by Snow, Jenika
It had been years since she’d wanted to reach for a man. This man, this stranger she’d just seen fighting in the cage, had come to her rescue. He hadn’t known her, yet when she’d screamed, he’d been there. He was dangerous. That much was clear.
“Earth to Brea.”
Brea tore her gaze from the sea of bodies that Adrian had walked into and looked at Shan. God, she’d been standing here thinking about that night, that moment Adrian had saved her, rescued her not just from the present but from her past as well.
“Hey, are you okay?” The redheaded bartender watched her curiously. Her tiny white top was stretched over incredibly huge breasts, her nipples obscenely poking through the material. Brea knew that shirt got Shan a shitload of tips, though.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m in my own world tonight.” Since seeing Adrian all those weeks ago, she hadn’t been able to stop wondering about him. As nonchalantly as she could, Brea had inquired about him around the club until she found out his name and that he was a newer fighter. But there wasn’t much else she knew about the haunted man.
He might not have been the typical knight in shining armor, not when he was bruised and bloody from having just finished fighting another man, but still. He’d been there for her. Closing her eyes as her past threatened to consume her again, she tried in vain not to think about the one man who had ruined her.
She would not let her past haunt her. It had taken her a long time to get to where she was, to be able to actually stand the sight of other people. Cameron’s face still haunted her dreams, but every day she was getting better, stronger. What she needed was a breather. What she needed was to put Adrian out of her thoughts and focus on the task at hand … on herself.
After telling Shan she needed some fresh air, she stayed close to the wall and made her way outside. A door beside the kitchen always had an illuminated area right outside, and more times than not there was someone out there taking a smoke break.
Once she had the door pushed open and stepped outside, the night air hit her. Brea shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she leaned against the brick wall of the building. A few people were several feet away, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke making its way to where she stood.
She stayed right under the large spotlight and brought her leg up to rest against the wall. Her head fell back involuntarily, and she didn’t stop her eyes from closing. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. Sleep away the past year, sleep away her fucking life.
Brea just kept telling herself soon it would all be over. Soon she would be someone new and wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder.
****
He ran his hand over his cock in fast, hard strokes. Adrian wasn’t ashamed that he jerked off. He sure as fuck didn’t care that he was currently pleasuring himself to the thought of one person.
Brea.
He found himself getting closer and closer to the edge, the water from the shower beating down on the back of his neck as he hung his head and closed his eyes. Placing a hand on the tiled wall, he braced himself against it as he pumped his hand over his dick harder, faster.
He thought about her.
Brea, with her long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and pure innocence that had every protective instinct inside of him roaring out, demanding that he claim her. It was like he was a damn caveman. She was dangerous to him, and she didn’t even know it. Even after the night he had kept the drunks at bay, she still looked at him with a certain longing in her eyes.
That was a heady, dangerous combination.
There was a feeling inside of him that told him she didn’t realize she looked at him like that, but regardless, it called to something in him. He would only end up hurting her in the end, his past tarnishing her, his baggage too much for even him some days.
If he let her, Brea would ruin him. That much was a given.
He might not know a whole lot about Brea, but what he’d found out just intensified his need for her. The way she held herself, spoke, looked at him was good and wholesome. She personified the word innocence. The idea that she could be a female he lost his heart to wasn’t so far-fetched.
Groaning, he allowed himself to come to the thoughts of Brea. His orgasm pumped through him, a small reprieve. When he was sated, he braced both hands on the wall in front of him, letting the water continue to rush down his back.
He always felt like shit after he jerked off. Or maybe it was guilt? Either way, this was his life, and damn it, it was fucking pathetic.
3
Brea closed the door behind her, reset the alarm, and tossed her purse onto the small wooden bench by the front door. The alarm beeped three times, alerting her to the fact it was locked in place, and she let a relieved breath fall from her lips.
She’d invested in the security system as soon as she’d moved in, something that gave her a semblance of calm.
This was how it was every night. Her fear kept a choke hold on her, but it was that fear that kept her heart beating in her chest and the will to survive strong. How she lived now would ultimately be what saved her life if it came down to it. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself go there. Not right now.
Cameron and his abuse had controlled so much of her life that she was drained, exhausted from it all.
Tossing her shoes to the side, she moved over to the couch and sat down, rubbing her feet and groaning softly. It was bad enough working at the club, but when she constantly had drunks hitting on her, trying to grab her ass, and then spilling their beers all over her shirt, it made it ten times worse.
She pulled the wad of cash out of her front pocket and let herself collapse against the couch cushion. Unfolding the bills, she started to count her tips for the night. The majority were ones, but there were a few fives thrown in.
One hundred and eighty-seven dollars. Decent for a Wednesday night.
She forced herself to get up and headed into the small kitchen. The light she turned on illuminated the yellow, fading linoleum and brown laminated cupboards. Her tiny green fridge was straight out of the seventies, as was the rest of the two-bedroom house she rented. The only modern thing in this damn place was the security system she had installed.
The place wasn’t pretty, that was for sure, but the rent was cheap and the neighborhood fairly safe, aside from a few misguided teenagers that liked to vandalize things on occasion.
She stared at her reflection in the little window above the sink, her thought replaying the last thing Cameron had said to her.
“There isn’t a place on this planet that you can run to and I won’t find you. You’ll always be mine, Brea. I’ll find you and I’ll make you submit in every way possible. We are meant to be together.”
Closing her eyes as her belly tightened in disgust, she wanted to scream out. Her fear had morphed into anger over time, vengeance and survival taking hold.
“Fuck you, Cameron,” she said under her breath.
With the wad of cash in her hand, she opened the freezer and shoved the frozen veggies and TV dinners out of the way. She grabbed the frosty can of generic coffee and popped the lid off. Inside she pulled out the plastic bag of coffee grounds and set it on the counter. Maybe it wasn’t the best hiding spot, but it was better than having the bills tucked under her mattress.
Shoving the cash to the bottom of the can with the rest of the tips she’d earned, she placed the coffee back in, put the lid on, and placed the can into the back of the freezer. The next thing she did, partly out of habit but mainly out of survival, was walk back out to the front hallway and pull out the duffel bag stored beneath the wooden bench. Inside she double-checked all the supplies she would need in case she had to make a quick getaway.
Extra clothes and shoes, toiletries, a little bit of cash that she didn’t keep in the freezer in case she couldn’t get to it, important documents, and the one thing, the only thing that might save her life: a Colt .45 that her father had given her before he passed away.
She had another bag fil
led with the same items, sans the gun, tucked in the trunk of her car.
Brea reached in the bag and grabbed the revolver, the weight substantial. The ivory handle was worn, but when the light hit it, there was still a slight shine to it. The metal was cold, but she knew if she continued to hold it long enough, it would warm her flesh. It never failed.
Whenever she held this gun, she instantly felt safer. Why she hadn’t used it on Cameron all those times he’d hit her, all those times he’d threatened her, was still lost on her. That was, until this last time. She knew she would never be afraid to use it on him again.
Opening the chamber, Brea checked to make sure the bullets were ready to go. She checked her duffel every night, and although it might have seemed repetitive to others, this was Brea’s life. She needed to make sure everything was in order in case Cameron did find her, which she didn’t doubt he would eventually. That’s why she was working on saving up to escape to someplace far away, someplace he’d never be able to find her. She’d change her identity, be someone totally new.
Before heading into her room for the night, she made sure the doors were locked, the alarm system was in fact engaged, and her car keys were easy to reach. She was tired, mentally and physically. Honestly she had no idea how much longer she could go through this. Constantly looking over her shoulder had her perpetually on edge and never at rest.
“Just a little bit longer and I can finally be free.” But she needed money to do that … a lot of it.
She knew if she left the country, she would have a better chance of escaping Cameron for good. At least she’d been smart enough to change her last name.
After a shower so hot she felt like her skin would peel off, Brea wrapped a towel around her body and ran her hand on the fogged-over mirror. The woman that stared back at her appeared sad. Blue eyes that looked far too big on her face had dark circles underneath. Her blonde hair looked darker now that it was wet, but she knew even dry it was dull and lifeless. Just like her life now.
And seeing herself that way, feeling this way, pissed her the fuck off.
She slipped her pajamas on and turned off her bedroom light, bathing everything in darkness. She stood there a moment, feeling her anxiety spike, but closing her eyes and counting to ten. It was a therapeutic exercise she’d adopted years ago, and most of the time it helped her, but there were also times that closing her eyes and trying to breathe through it just made it worse.
She started to come down from the wave of panic that threatened to consume her. When her strength returned and she was able to open her eyes, she took in her surroundings. Double bed pushed against the wall with worn flowered wallpaper. The lone window in her room was covered by peeling, black-painted metal bars, another accessory that came with the house and one that had helped seal the deal for her moving in. They added to her level of safety.
“You’re fine. You aren’t back there, and he isn’t here.” Yeah, as long as she kept telling herself that, everything would be all right. Brea laughed bitterly. If that wasn’t the biggest load of shit she had ever uttered.
****
“Hey.”
Brea set the empty glass on the rubber mat on the bar and glanced up. Matt, the bartender on Thursday nights, handed her two filled glasses of beer and smirked at her.
“You free Saturday?”
“Matt, you already know the answer to that.” She shook her head and smiled at yet another one of Matt’s attempts to pick her up. Although he was persistent, he was also harmless. In fact Brea knew that he’d knock an asshole out if they even looked at one of the waitresses wrong.
He grinned and shrugged. “Gotta try, right?” His shaggy brown hair hung across his forehead, and his whiskey-colored eyes rivaled their most expensive bottle of Johnny Walker.
She chuckled softly. “Sorry, but that’s a pass from me.”
He looked mortally wounded as he placed his hand over his heart. “Shot down again.”
She grabbed the two glasses and set them on her tray, not bothering to hide her smile. Brea deposited the filled glasses wigh the customers and made a sweep, taking a few more orders and collecting more empties.
Once back at the bar, she started clearing off her tray.
“Brea. Please come to my office.”
The voice in her ear was deep and authoritative. Brea adjusted the earpiece that connected every employee with the owner, Tate Wessen. Instantly her heart started to pound. There were only two reasons the boss called an employee into his office. He was either about to fire her or ask her to work underground. Both scared the shit out of her.
Matt gave her a nod when she gestured she would be heading into the back to talk to Tate. She hadn’t been the only one to hear Tate’s deep command. Everyone working the floor had heard him through the same earpiece system. Making her way through the sea of bodies, she stopped when she got to the large steel door that led to the back portion of the club, where Tate’s office was located.
A big, burly bouncer stood in front of it, and at her arrival he gave a tight nod and let her pass. Once the door was shut behind her, all sound from the club ceased. A long, brightly lit hallway stood before her along with another bouncer-guarded door. For this being a nightclub, she might have thought the extra security was a bit extreme, but given the fact there were illegal dealings going on right below them, she wasn’t all that surprised.
In fact, that was one of the reasons she felt so safe working here. The security was phenomenal. Nothing and no one entered or left the club without Tate and his team knowing.
“Evening,” Roe, the bouncer in front of Tate’s door, said in a deep baritone voice.
She offered a tight smile and nodded. He knocked on the door once before opening it and allowing her to enter. Tate’s office was just as intimidating as he was. Dark hardwood and brushed steel covered every square inch.
There was a minimalistic approach to it all … just like the man himself.
Brea stayed close to the door, although she knew it was false security. Tate wouldn’t let her leave until he wanted her to. She didn’t know why she felt so uneasy around him. This wasn’t about the Cameron issue, but about Tate being so frighteningly male. He’d been nothing but professional and accommodating to her, but underneath all of that she sensed something hard-core about him.
“Brea.” Tate glanced up from the stack of papers scattered around his desk. He smiled almost warmly, but Brea wasn’t fooled. Tate was a brutally handsome man, with short dark hair and amber-colored eyes, but Brea knew a dangerous man when she saw one. Tate was definitely one of those men.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the plush black leather chair in front of his steel-and-glass desk. When she was seated, he laced his hands together on top of his desk and watched her. “You like it here, Brea?”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaned back in his chair, getting more comfortable. “Please, call me Tate.” Brea nodded but didn’t speak. “You’re one of my best workers. You get along with everyone, and I’ve never had a complaint about you. You also pick up extra shifts constantly.”
“Thank you, sir, I mean, Tate.” She shifted on her seat uncomfortably. She didn’t want to be put in any kind of spotlight. She wanted to go unnoticed. If people started paying attention to her, that could cause her a lot of problems.
“You worked underground before, correct?”
Instantly her heart beat a little faster and her palms started to sweat. “Yes, that’s right.” Throat gone as dry as the desert, Brea already knew what he was going to say. Hell, she’d known it was one of two things before she’d even set foot in his office.
“How would you like to work down there permanently?” She didn’t respond right away, and he must have sensed her unease. “I know it’s a different crowd, and I assure you what happened before will not be happening again.” His voice dropped lower, and there was menace in his tone.
After the incident security had been beefed up down there, or so she’d
heard. Tate had asked her if she’d wanted to discuss it, but she’d declined. The last thing Brea wanted was to relive that night.
She’d also gotten one hell of a bonus in her next paycheck, and she knew it had to be compensation from Tate for what had transpired. But the temptation of more money wasn’t a sure thing where it concerned working the fights.
“If you’re afraid, I promise you there’s no need to be.” His voice took on a gentler note. “I’ll have security on you the entire time. No one will bother you, Brea.”
At that she relaxed.
“But there isn’t anyone else I’d trust to work the fights more than you.”
That surprised her, seeing as she was fairly new compared to some of his other employees.
“You keep to yourself, not get into shit you’re not supposed to, and I know you’ll do your job.” She stayed silent still, not sure how to respond. “I’ll increase your pay by double, including hazard pay.”
Why was he choosing her? Why was he going to all this trouble for a nobody? There were already waitresses that worked the underground. “I—” After her one night down there when she’d freaked out, she assumed she’d never be placed to work in the fights again.
As if he read her mind, he spoke again. “I’ve recently had some issues with a few of the girls down there”—he paused for a moment before continuing—“distracting the fighters. Those types of distractions tend to cost me money. I need employees who have good heads on their shoulders and can handle the pressure. Despite the situation you endured the last time, you didn’t cower. In fact, you finished off your shift. That shows a lot of dedication, and that is something I admire, Brea.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’ve already proven you aren’t afraid of a little shit from the drunks. Not to mention you’re beautiful and will no doubt sell a lot of drinks.”
She blushed even though this wasn’t a pickup line from Tate. He was a businessman, so obviously this was about increasing his revenue. What the hell could she say? She knew if she refused, it would be an insult to Tate, and Brea desperately needed this job.
